


The Lion's Fang

by KierneM



Category: Forgotten Realms, Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: AU, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KierneM/pseuds/KierneM
Summary: Varok finds himself in a strange new world, where the rules of engagement, as the Horde understands them, are completely different.
Relationships: Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 56
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

Varok woke up. That in and of itself was startling enough. To feel his breath whooshing in and out of his lungs, his heart hammering, the caress of wind across his sweaty brow. Instinct roared back to life and he clambered to his feet. His surroundings were unfamiliar. The area he found himself in was a clearing, nearly the length of five war machines end to end, and the trees were somewhat familiar - pines, mostly, with a brilliant flowering tree he didn't recognize making a pink puff amongst the greens and browns.

He whirled about, looking for the enemy that lurked, and found only a small rodent of some sort rustling a bush as it ate a bright black berry. He wandered over to it, searching the berry bush, and found more. He plucked them, careful of the long thorns, and ate while walking into the woods. As he walked, he thought of the mak'gora. Sylvanas had used some magics he had no name for against him. He should be dead. He had earned his warrior's death. And yet, the ancestors saw fit for him to be here, alive.

He walked for what felt like hours, stopping at a clear stream to quench his thirst in the meantime, until he heard voices in the distance.

Children playing. Their shrieks of laughter brought a ghost of a smile to his face.

He crept closer, keeping to the cover of the large trees, not wishing to frighten the children, but wanting to see more. It would feel so good, to see laughter and high spirits and play after so much death, so much destruction and war.

Once he found a good vantage point, he had to knuckle his eyes - twice - to make sure he saw what he thought he saw instead of an illusion or a dream. Two orc children were playing with three human children, swinging around in a circle, hands clasped, while they sang some sort of song. The last three words were shouted, and the children fell, heaped practically one on top the other, all giggling. Past them, at some sort of table, a female orc and a male human - clearly mated by their body language - spoke to an older female, a younger female, and a male human. Food and drink were passed around, and the children called to the noon meal.

Varok tensed - off to the left of the picnicking families, he saw two orc males, carrying large hand cannons, and heading right for the unsuspecting families. Their faces were unreadable at this distance, but their posture and demeanor seemed - grim. Varok found a small branch to use as a club and prepared himself to spring at the two should they start something. The families had no weapons of any sort he could see.

They stopped to speak to the families, and Varok noted the orc female gave them food, and the children weren't afraid of them. He kept a good grip on the branch - things could turn ugly at a moment's notice - and watched carefully. The two orcs left several minutes later. Only then did Varok allow himself to relax. Varok continued to watch the two families for quite some time. After the noon meal, the youngest of the five gathered children was put down for a nap, while the other four played near the adults. He noticed that if the children strayed farther than the grassy area around the table, one of the adults would call them back, in that tone parents use that brooks no argument.

After a time, Varok too needed to sleep. He moved from his vantage point a little deeper into the forest, found a small dip in the landscape that made a perfect spot, and settled down. Sleep soon overtook him.

He woke to one of the orc children standing near him.

"Elder," the boy said in Orcish, "if you're really tired, I'm sure my Momma would make a tent for you. We have extras, and plenty of food," he smiled.

Varok smiled back at the little boy. He couldn't help it. "Thought you were told to play close to the table," he admonished the boy.

"The patrol said there were displacer beasts in the area," the boy said. "They're not that dangerous," he scoffed.

"All the same, we should go to your parents. I'm sure they're worried," Varok said, and got up, a bit more stiffly than he would have liked.

They made their way over to the table, and the boy said to his sister, "I told you it wasn't a displacer beast you saw in the woods!"

Varok knew he wasn't the best at stealth, but this was a sure sign from the spirits he was not cut out of the life of a rogue. Not in his younger days, and certainly not now.

"Welcome to our camp!" The human male said. "I'm Adam; this is Kateesha;" he indicated his mate," and these are our friends Dottie, Samantha, and her husband, Steve."

"Greetings, all. I am Varok Saurfang."

"Pleasure to meet you. I bet you're hungry," Dottie said, and busied herself with the many strange containers stacked in a larger container full of half-melted ice.

"He's male, they're always hungry," Kateesha laughed, and dug around in another container, pulling out several small bottles. She handed one to Varok, then passed out the remainder amongst the other adults. Varok watched her open it, and he imitated the motion, then brought the liquid to his lips. Ale, cold, and a fine quality.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've never had anything like it," he added.

Kateesha beamed. "Bub, from the brewery in Tala Village."

The families were as good as the boy's word. After being plied with enough food to qualify as a feast, Kateesha and Steve pulled out an extra tent, bedroll, and blanket, pitching it near theirs.

Once the little ones had been shooed off to bed, talk around the table turned to the displacer beasts, and the possibility the dangerous beasts could make it this close to the village.

Varok learned much that night, of how orcs were seen, especially the Skullcrusher tribe. When all but he and Kateesha remained, he had to ask.

"Do you have many green skins like me, petitioning to join the tribe?"

Kateesha regarded him for a moment. "Not as many as we used to. But if you wish to join, speak to one of the barkeeps. They'll know all about the rituals and such you'll need to complete."

Varok thanked her, then headed for his tent. He had much to think about. It was quite some time before sleep claimed him again.


	2. Logical

The next morning, after a substantial breakfast, the family packed up and prepared to head back to the village. Varok followed them, at a very respectful distance. He spotted a disused cabin in the woods, and within ten minutes, the village sprang up out of the forest as if it had always been there.

But what caught Varok’s attention, and held it, were the people. Orcs, of course, but humans of every skin tone imaginable. Elves, including one so dark he looked like a living statue carved of ebony, polished to a high shine. Gnomes. Dwarves. A lithe, humanoid draconic creature dressed in a manner that reminded Varok of a very wealthy sin’dorei. And children, of all these races and more, laughing and playing in the summer sunshine, not a care in the world.

A touch on his arm brought him back to his immediate surroundings.

“Elder, the main lodge is over this way,” Kateesha said.

Varok nodded.

The main lodge was an impressive building, one story tall, but sized to fit nearly the entire village standing within. It had a wide porch, shaded from the worst of the sun by an awning, the cheerful navy blue and white striped fabric rippling slightly in the breeze. Well-used but sturdy wooden chairs and tables were arranged across the porch, most of them occupied by the elders of the tribe, playing cards, chess, or other games he didn’t immediately recognize. He noticed the floors had slots in them around the entire perimeter of the porch, as did the awning frames.

“For when the mosquitoes get very bad,” Kateesha answered his unspoken question. “Wooden frames with screens can be slotted in here in a few minutes.”

Varok nodded. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, a ‘mosquito’ was, but it was obvious they were a bug, and a true nuisance.

“Elder Tumag, may I introduce Elder Varok? He wishes to speak to you of joining the tribe,” Kateesha said. Her tone was the most formal Varok had heard yet.

“Welcome to Nela Village, Varok! Come inside, we have much to talk about!” Tumag got up from his chair and clapped Varok on the shoulder.

The interior was cool, artificially so, as Varok and Tumag made their way to a group of chairs against the far wall. They had barely been seated when a young half-orc boy brought in a plate of sandwiches, two more bottles of the ‘bub’ carefully tucked under his arm.

“Thank you, Eric. Tell your mother I’ll be by for lunch, with a guest.”

“Okay, granfa!” the boy darted out of the building.

“What do you know of us?” Tumag asked easily.

“Nothing. I am a traveler to this world, so like, and yet so unlike mine.”

Tumag leaned forward. “Tell me of your world.”

And Varok told him, of his beloved mate, of his son, and Dranosh’s fate. Of the wars. The Horde. The Alliance. The telling went straight through the noon hour, interrupted only by the boy Eric bringing them more food and ale, and into the shadows of the evening before Varok finished.

Tumag escorted him to his own home, where his family gathered for the evening meal. Varok noted that while the food was dished up, only the youngest of the littles were eating. He was seated as the guest of honor, and dinner was the liveliest affair he’d ever witnessed. Talking, laughing, telling of the trials of the day – Tumag’s sons were both leatherworkers, and spoke of a ‘Hollywood type’ expecting them to be able to produce six hundred suede and leather jackets in less than two weeks.

“ _Six hundred_?” Varok exclaimed.

“Yeah!” The older of the two paused long enough to take a long pull of his ale. “I told him six, of the design he wanted, would be pushing it in that kind of time frame. He doesn’t understand – we make everything by hand. No helpers. No sweat shops. Just us.”

“Sweat shops?” Varok inquired.

“Oh, a place where people are hired to make mass amounts of clothing. Usually at below minimum wage and in horrible working conditions,” the younger brother clarified. “They’re illegal here in the US, but that doesn’t stop some unscrupulous business owners from trying.”

After that, talk turned to other topics, and finally, after having consumed more food in one sitting than he usually got in a day in Grommash Hold, the two elders retired to the back porch. Varok noted this too, was screened in with mesh so fine it must have been of magical creation.

“To become a Skullcrusher, you need to understand our history, and how Krom the All Father taught us we could be better than the savages our people had become. One of our oldest, most cherished stories is of the Alabaster Tower. Now, the Tower is a place, where our barkeeps go to train, currently in Tala Village far to the north. In olden times, before we became the Skullcrushers, she was a human woman, who led us to the All Father and the Hearthmother.”

“A spiritual journey?”

“And a physical one. The Skullcrusher tribe formed from just thirty or so individuals, tired of living from one raid of human lands to the next, tired of killing. They wanted a better way. And the Tower led us to that way.”

“How long did the journey take?” Varok asked.

“A year. Which is why all who petition to join the Skullcrushers spend a year as one of us before we bring you before Krom. He judges you and deems your heart worthy – or not.”

Varok nodded. He didn’t need to be told what would happen if he was deemed unworthy.

Tumag smiled. “Skullcrushers were led to their lands by the Tower. When we arrived, hungry, tired, wounded, some nearly to their deathbed – Krom appeared to us, as did Gravekka. Krom took the males, and Gravekka took the females. The Hearthmother gave us the comforts of home – cooking food, tending the sick and injured, raising the little ones. The All Father taught us the ways of the craftsman, the farmer, and the warrior – and gave us Barbarian Logic.” Tumag’s smile grew wider.

“Barbarian Logic?” Varok asked.

“The First Law of Barbarian Logic – which is the only one that may be repeated to outsiders, by the way – states as such.” Tumag turned to Varok, his expression serious, though there was a distinct twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “There is a wall in my way. But the door is over there.” Tumag gestured vaguely to his left. “But there is a wall in my way!” He mimicked breaking down the wall with a mighty cleave of an axe. “No more wall!” he said with some satisfaction. “What is the lesson to be learned?”

Varok saw the question for what it was – a test. So instead of answering right away, he thought about it for a few moments. “There are a few lessons to be learned from this example. The first, and most obvious, is ‘overcome every obstacle’. The second, ‘The easy way is usually not the right way.’ And the third, ‘Look carefully, for things may not be as they first appear.’”

Tumag beamed. “I knew you’d understand!”

And thus began Varok’s education.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, to the point. Moar fluff anon.


	3. Nela Village

The next morning, after another amazing meal – evidently Skullcrushers were strangers to famine and want – Tumag took Varok around and showed him Nela Village. To Varok’s great surprise, the village was nearly the size of Orgrimmar, hidden among old oaks and pines. Tumag’s home was in the southern outskirts of the village. Varok counted at least a hundred and fifty houses, most of them sturdy two-story structures in what to him seemed a more human style, just slightly larger to accommodate orcs. They were clean, roofed in some material he didn’t recognize, with fenced-in yards, vegetable and flower gardens, and many plants hanging in the windows or on the wide front porches. As they walked north, more homes came into view, some now one-story and having what were clearly two front doors leading into the same structure.

“Duplexes,” Tumag explained. “The young professionals who come here to work like to live there – close enough that it’s a pleasant walk to work most mornings, but far enough away from the tourists to provide some peace and quiet.”

Varok merely nodded and they moved on. Clearly, ‘professional’ meant something completely different here. He couldn’t imagine assassins setting up shop in such a nice, well-travelled area. The thought made him smile.

Then they arrived in the village proper – bustling with activity on this sunny summer day – and Varok couldn’t help but stare. There were more people here than he’d ever seen gathered in one place at one time for anything other than the assault on Icecrown Citadel – and the vast majority were civilians, families with children of all ages from newborns being pushed in strange little wheeled contraptions to gangly awkward adolescents. Off to their left, A large group of mostly human elders was being escorted by a young-looking elf into a five-story building.

“That’s the Village Inn, our main hotel,” Tumag said. “Next to it is one of our restaurants, Village Eats,” Tumag chuckled at the pun. They continued north, to a building with a footprint easily double that of Grommash Hold, but not quite as large as the main lodge. It had two stories, was made of wood, and saw near-continuous foot traffic.

“Our Trading Post. Our craftspeople sell their wares here to the tourists, and they have nearly everything you could need. Want to step inside?”

“Yes, please,” Varok said.

The interior was well-lit, and much cooler than he expected. Varok could feel the cool air travelling from vents located in the ceiling in regular intervals. Shelves lined three of the four walls, and made neat aisles, ten in total. At the far end, a long counter held two strange machines, one of which was being operated by a young orc female with long dark red hair. Civilians lined up to make their purchases, while an older human couple were conducting their transaction.

Tumag headed over to the counter, so Varok took a bit of time to wander the aisles, mindful to not bump into any of the other patrons. Each aisle was sectioned off every four feet and sold everything from statues to clothing to pots and pans. Another section had small bottles and boxes. Varok recognized some as things used to bathe – shampoo and conditioner and body wash and the like – but the other things he had no idea what they were. The clothing was sized in obvious increments and ranged from a newborn gnome to a large orc, all clearly handmade. As he was looking at the clothing, a human woman and her half-elven mate wandered down the aisle. She turned, and he saw she was pregnant. The pair started going through the newborn section. Varok decided it was time to go find Tumag.

They left the trading post and headed north, again.

“Ah, mail’s arrived!” Tumag said as he pointed out a squarish white vehicle. It had markings on the side in blue and red, and what Varok thought was a stylized eagle. It pulled away, and as soon as it did, a much larger brown vehicle with gold writing on the side took its place. A tall draconic creature, dark blue in color, wearing a brown shirt and pants the exact color of the truck, leapt out of the front, headed around to the back, and unloaded several light brown boxes.

“The post?”

“Right, the post office.” Tumag smiled as children swarmed past them to a large group of boxes on the side of the building, shaded by another of those blue and white awnings. Using keys, they opened the boxes, and waited as their mail was sorted. Each of the children headed back to their homes with their burdens.

“It’s considered quite the privilege when a child is responsible enough to be allowed to check the mail,” Tumag said, chuckling a little. “Ah, you’ve already been to the lodge. Let me take you to our clinic.”

The clinic was slightly south east of the Post Office, almost directly across from the restaurant. It was a cheerful one-story building, deceptively large, with a sign out front – the red cross on a white background that humans used to indicate healers. They headed inside, to more of that strange coolness, and it was even more pronounced once they moved past the waiting room.

“Doc? Are you busy?” Tumag called out.

“Just a moment,” a lilting elven voice trilled from one of the rooms. An elven woman, ebony skinned, red eyed – in a way that reminded Varok, uncomfortably, of Sylvanas – and with long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, emerged.

“Varok, allow me to introduce you to Doctor Jezla Mizzryn. Usually referred to as just ‘Doc’ or ‘Doctor J’,” Tumag smiled fondly at the small elf.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Varok said, and shook the woman’s hand.

“Likewise! If you have any problems, come and find me, okay?” she smiled up at Varok.

“Thank you, I will if it’s necessary.”

And with that, the two elders left her to her work.

Tumag took Varok to see the ‘necessary evil’, the parking lot west of the village. Varok was amazed – this expanse of pavement could hold four or five hundred war machines, with plenty of room to maneuver with ease. It was less than half full of vehicles of all shapes and sizes, with people headed to their vehicles to leave or coming into the village loaded with parcels.

“Some folks prefer to shop in the town nearby, and that’s fine. The trading post has a great deal of day-to-day needs, but it can’t stock everything.”

“Obviously,” Varok commented. This world was so very strange – but he found himself more curious, rather than repelled, by it.

Once they were finished touring the village proper, Tumag took him to see the residential area to the north – more houses, duplexes, another restaurant, and another, slightly smaller hotel - then they headed to the main lodge.

“There’s a bit more to show you, but I need to rest a bit, and some bub would be quite welcome about now,” Tumag admitted. “I imagine your years in service to your country have toughened you up quite a bit,” he conceded.

Varok snorted. “An orc in my homeland is never truly safe, unless he is in the capital city. And even then…” he trailed off. Eric dutifully brought them plates of snacks and a pair of bottles each, and the two ate and drank in comfortable silence.

“You don’t have any paperwork at all,” Tumag said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “We’ll have to correct that.”

“Paperwork?” Varok asked.

“A birth certificate, a Social Security number, and an ID. We’ll take care of that tomorrow. Today, I just want you to get your bearings.”

Varok nodded. There had to be some catch to this place so like what the humans called ‘heaven’.

After their meal break, Tumag took Varok out to the eastern side of the village, where most of the farmers and herders lived. As they were walking down the wide path, a black and white cat rushed over to Varok, then nearly tripped him up rubbing against his boots, running about his feet. He leaned down to pick up the feline.

“Hmm. I wonder who you belong to, little one?” Tumag said. He checked the cat’s collar. “Well, hello, Orion. Let’s go find your people, shall we?”

They travelled to a few of the small farms dotting the area, and finally found a woman searching frantically through the brush around an old fence.

“Orion! Where the hell are you?”

The cat let out a small ‘meow’, and the woman whirled to see Tumag and Varok standing there.

“You found him! Thank you so much!”

Varok carefully handed over the little bundle of fur, and with a last smile, the woman disappeared into the nearby house, scolding the cat as if it were a child all the while.

Now Varok had seen the village, and it was nearly time for dinner when they finally arrived back at Tumag’s home. Varok was treated to another fine meal, this time with more ‘bub’, as the Skullcrushers called their ale.

And as they had the evening before, Tumag and Varok headed to the back porch to talk more of history. Tonight’s lesson was all about the great chieftains of the tribe, and their interactions with the peoples living near them. More Barbarian Logic, of course. They talked until late in the evening, and by the time he settled in his bed, he was certain this place was a gift from the Ancestors – his own personal heaven.


	4. Old Dogs, New Tricks

The catch finally appeared the next day. Tumag had evidently done some research early that morning, and over breakfast informed Varok they would have to meet with some government officials at the main lodge in an hour.

“What’s wrong?” Varok asked, more sharply than he intended. Tumag was his host, after all.

Tumag didn’t take offense. “Because of your – unique situation, we need them to help us with the paperwork, that’s all.”

Varok controlled himself. He may have been born early in the morning, but it wasn’t this morning – there was far more to this than Tumag was willing to say. He resigned himself to get through this as best he could, with a stern internal warning to keep his temper in check. Tumag would not submit him to this unless it was necessary.

After breakfast, the two elders headed to the main lodge. Once inside, they joined a male and a female human seated at the table.

“Hello! I’m Jonathan Romero, FBI SID, and this is Cheyenne Penczak,” the man said easily. “We’re here to ask you some questions, to help you begin the legal process to naturalize here.”

“Very well then.” Varok suppressed a sigh.

What followed was as simple as it was excruciating. Varok told them his name, the names of his family, and their dates of birth – and death. Talking about them, answering even basic questions about them, brought back such a flood of memories. Thankfully Agent Romero seemed to pick up on his distress and made this section as short as possible.

The next section wasn’t much easier. Varok had been a soldier since he was fifteen years old, and as he was now about to turn sixty-three there were a lot of campaigns to discuss. Varok tried his best to be as clinical about them as possible, to divorce himself from the events. He gave the two agents a chronological rundown of the battles he’d been in, their outcomes, all the way up to the Battle of Lordaeron and his capture by King Anduin. How he and the King had plotted to overthrow Sylvanas Windrunner, and the subsequent mak’gora that should have ended his life, but instead he woke up here.

Varok gave the two agents credit where credit was due – they took everything in stride. Agent Romero and Agent Penczak both asked a few questions, which he answered as best he could, knowing very little of magic or dimensional travel.

“Let’s stretch our legs for a bit then,” Agent Romero suggested. “Do you think you could lead us to where you initially arrived?”

“Of course.”

The three of them retraced his steps. He pointed out where he had camped his first night and told the agents of the families who had happily shared food and ale with him, then walked further to the very spot where he woke up.

While Agent Penczak walked around, casting some sort of magic at the area, Agent Romero and Varok headed over to a fallen tree and sat down. Agent Romero asked him questions about his skills, his likely role within the Skullcrusher tribe, and what he planned to do about his education.

“Education?” Varok asked, surprised. “I need to learn to read and write this language we speak – Tumag says it is called English? – but I was not aware of anything else I would require.”

Agent Romero nodded. “All prospective citizens of the US must take a test about basic civics, and pass it, to earn their citizenship. We can arrange for a tutor to assist you in learning English, as well as exam prep for the test.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“As soon as we return to our office, I’ll get someone to come and tutor you. I don’t think you’d do well in a classroom environment,” Agent Romero’s lips twitched.

“Probably not,” Varok conceded.

The tutor, a half-elf named Cathy, met Varok in the main lodge five days a week, for four hours a day. To his great relief, he mastered reading and writing English quickly. They were able to move on to the US government section of his education within a few weeks. Varok endured it, though he would have rather marched across the country carrying a ten stone backpack rather than sit in the coolness and read books all morning long. At least, in the afternoons Varok was able to get out and about. After some discussion with the chieftain and the Head Barkeep, it was decided Varok would join the patrolmen. So, every afternoon after lunch, he headed out into the wilderness.

Varok relished this part of his day. He approached the situation methodically, using old tricks to learn the terrain around the village quickly. He wanted, by the time he became a Skullcrusher, to be as well-acquainted with the area around the village for miles as any native-born orc. He kept his eyes open for the dangerous beasts that sometimes wandered too close to the campgrounds, as was his duty, but he had an ulterior motive.

He found what he was looking for, a small vein of silver. He mined out as much as he could, hunting down other veins, as well as some copper, as he had time, and stowing the nuggets in a sack under his bunk. It had been so long since he had been able to practice his trade. After he’d found a decent supply of the ores he needed, he traveled further and further afield, looking for gems. He found agates, quartz, a few tourmalines, some aquamarines, all quite good enough for jewelry.

One day, two weeks after he’d begun the study of the government, he was out almost due east of the village, following some strange hoof prints he’d found. Leucrotta, one of the most dangerous of the monsters found in the wilderness, were large hoofed animals, so he had to check. The recent rain in the area had given the trees and scrub that unique scent of moisture. Varok pushed aside a small sapling to gain entrance to an area almost like a cave, but with walls of greenery rather than stone. A bit off center of the clearing, a pool had developed, slowly drying up as the heat of the late summer sun reached it midday.

He didn’t find a single dangerous creature – the hoofprints belonged to a particularly large stag – but the swarm of what he first thought were gnats rose up out of the clearing and headed straight for him. Biting insects swarmed him, from all sides, managing to even bite places on his scalp, under his bracers, and every inch of exposed skin. The nuisances buzzed in his ears, one even managing to bite just inside his right ear before he swatted it, killing it.

Cursing, swinging his arms this way and that to dislodge the pests, Varok swatted at them, retreating into the sunlight away from the little cove like any good soldier. When there was no more buzzing about him, he checked himself over and found hundreds of tiny bumps, all of them beginning to itch and swell.

_Discretion is the better part of valor_ , he thought, and made his way to the clinic.

“Varok, what happened?” Doctor J asked. She was examining his left arm.

“I’m not sure what they were, but I disturbed a nest or a breeding ground of something,” Varok answered, gritting his teeth. “At first I thought they were gnats.”

“Any difficulty swallowing? Chest pain? Shortness of breath?” Doctor J asked, alarmed.

“No. It itches!” Varok allowed just a bit of his mounting irritation to show through. “Even in my ear, it _itches_!”

Doctor J looked in his ears, and carefully pulled out the remains of one of the pests. “Mosquitoes,” she pronounced, disposing of the bug in the trash can, then going to wash her hands. She put on gloves, and methodically spread some sort of cream over the welts. It helped, to the point of Varok sighing and even going a bit limp under her ministrations.

“It’s okay,” Doctor J assured him. “No lasting harm.” She spread a light cotton blanket over him. “Just for my peace of mind, though, take a nap, here? I want to check on you in an hour or two and make sure you aren’t going to have a more severe reaction.”

Varok nodded. His eyes were already slipping closed. A nap sounded like a good idea.

An hour later, Doctor J woke him up, and checked him over again, even listening to his heart.

“Good. No lasting harm,” she repeated, smiling. “Here’s some more cream to spread on the welts after you shower. Stop by the Trading Post before you go out again. If you have trouble finding it, ask one of the girls. You’ll want to get a spray called Deep Woods Off. It keeps the little bloodsuckers away. “

Varok hung his head. He knew his lack of funds was going to become a problem, sooner or later. “I have no funds to purchase anything yet. I haven’t been able to ply my trade.”

Doctor J nodded. “No worries. Wait here.”

Varok did as he was asked, confused. Doctor J returned less than ten minutes later. “First bottle on the house. Doctor’s orders,” she smiled at him. “Now, go eat. I can hear your stomach rumbling from the other side of the clinic.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Varok smiled, and did as he was bid.


	5. Solitude

A few weeks later, Tumag had considered Varok far enough along in his studies of Skullcrusher life to reduce their lessons to once a week. His studies to become a US citizen had concluded with a trip into the local town – Varok had all he could do to not rubberneck like a tourist – to attend his Naturalization Ceremony. He had given the official at the door his paperwork, gone before the judge, recited the Oath, and that was that. Within a week he had all the documentation Tumag had spoken of, plus a Certificate of Naturalization.

He had at last found some success as a jeweler. He made necklaces and pendants of the ores and gems he’d found and sold them at the trading post. This gave him enough income to finally find his own lodgings. He enjoyed living with Tumag and his family, but sometimes he craved the quiet and solitude of his own place.

Of course, he took over the small disused cabin he’d seen his first day on Earth. The cabin had required some repairs as well as a very thorough cleaning, which he saw to. His first night there was a bit rough, but the quiet was amazing. The very next day, Kateesha and Dottie showed up with Steve and their children in tow, carrying parcels of housewarming gifts. Hot on their heels were Selina and Gorok, the owners of the little cat he’d found, with blankets and other woven goods for his bed. Then came Tumag and nearly his entire family, riding on four-wheelers dragging carts, with furniture. By the end of his first full day in the cabin, he had everything he needed to be quite comfortable, even food. Kateesha had asked him about his cooking skills, and when he hemmed and hawed a bit, she giggled and said she’d stop by once a week or so and help him with his groceries and whatnot. Varok was touched by their kindness.

His days soon took on a familiar, comforting routine. Every morning, he would go to the workshop and create his jewelry for sale. He would take lunch at Village Eats or in the main lodge with Tumag and the other elders, then head home. He would patrol the easternmost edge of the Village, out for a good seven miles, ending his patrol at a larger campground. After talking to the guards at the campground, he would wind his way back to his cabin. After tending his weapons and armor, he would shower, change into jeans (humans had amazing inventions, and of all the ones he’d been exposed to, the garments known as jeans were his personal favorite), eat dinner, then lounge on his back porch, reading, drinking bub, and smoking a pipe Gorok had given him.

On a fine fall day, Varok emerged from his cabin to see the forests lit up in a riot of color. Reds and oranges mixed with the evergreens to provide a breathtaking vista. He headed to the village, worked for a few hours finishing up some pieces, then made his way back home. He ate lunch on his back porch, then changed clothes and worked his way through his patrol. When he approached the campground, the guards had their weapons unslung, and every camper had a weapon of some sort on them or very near to hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked the guard in Orcish.

“Displacer beast tracks have been spotted south of here,” the guard replied. “A mated pair. The female is very likely to be pregnant and looking for a cave or some sort of shelter to raise her kits.”

Varok growled. He’d studied the monsters common in the area; displacer beasts were far more trouble than most. Their innate ability, appearing as if they were a short distance away from their true location, made them somewhat difficult to kill.

“Oh, it gets worse,” the guard answered his growl with one of his own. “A pack of leucrotta are moving through as well. At least five of them, but they’re good at hiding their true numbers.”

“Has anyone been hurt? Or – “Varok stopped.

“Luckily, no. The tracks were spotted by an experienced camper, and he warned us right away. We radioed it in.”

“Good.”

The guard nodded his assent. “Be careful out there, Elder.”

Varok nodded grimly.

He headed due south of the campground, looking for tracks. It didn’t take long to find the large panther-like tracks of the two felines, but their travel pattern made no sense. They kept on heading in almost a zigzag pattern, at a full run, for over a mile. Varok paused for a moment to get a drink of water from his canteen, then continued. It took him a handful of minutes to find their trail again, this time south by southeast, and still in the full run zigzag pattern. He found fresh scat, a sign the beasts were close by. Good. He wanted to make the kill and get back to his cabin – it was close to nightfall.

A sound reached his ears – a woman in distress? Varok strained to listen more carefully. No, he wasn’t mistaken – there it was again! Varok turned and ran towards the sound, axe in hand.

“Help me!” the woman screamed, and then another cry – like a child frightened out of their wits.

Varok answered with a battle roar and charged into the clearing where the terrified woman and her child were trapped by the beasts.

Except there was no woman. There was no child.

Varok was face-to-face with two agitated displacer beasts and seven greater leucrotta.

He’d run into an ambush.

Varok’s mind raced, in time with his heart, as he took in the scene. Displacer beasts first. They were more dangerous because they were so hard to hit.

He swung on the one closest to him, missed by nearly four feet, adjusted, then swung again. This time he felt the satisfying bite of his axe into the creature’s shoulder. It yowled and backed away. A leucrotta snapped at its exposed rear, all but driving the beast into him.

He swung again, connected, and then was hit from behind by one of the leucrotta – it felt like he’d run full tilt into the wall of the Dranosh’ar Blockade. Falling to his knees, allowing the momentum to carry him forward, Varok rolled back up onto his feet and aimed a blow at the leucrotta that had bull rushed him. He missed. The displacer beast swiped at him, opening three parallel gashes across his chest, but Varok was unphased. He swung again, hitting the wounded displacer beast, and grabbed the thing by its neck, delivering the killing blow.

One down.

Eight to go.

The other displacer beast yowled at the loss of its mate.

The leucrotta laughed like hyenas at the sport they’d created. Another bashed into him from the side, sinking its jaws deep into the flesh of his left arm, just above the bracer. It held on, clamping ever tighter. The creature didn’t realize its fatal error until Varok brought his axe down on its neck, decapitating it. The severed head hung on for a few more seconds as Varok attacked the other displacer beast, finally letting go and being flung into the trees.

Two down.

Seven to go.

As he swung at the other displacer beast, the leucrotta took turns bashing into him, knocking him off balance. Varok noted, in that part of his mind not completely given over to battle, that it did not attempt to bite him. They learned from mistakes.

Two hits connected back to back, and the displacer beast leaped on him, yowling, slashing with its claws, and using the tentacles as maces. Varok took two solid blows to the head, nearly knocking him silly, but at the last moment he shook off the encroaching vertigo and rallied himself. He hacked at the displacer beast, finally dropping it after three good blows, but his chest and leg were scored with deep slashes. Blood oozed out of the wounds.

The leucrotta laughed even louder.

Three down.

Six left.

He was bleeding badly, but there was no giving up now. He’d lived through too much. If this was the price to pay to live in this heaven the ancestors had made for him, so be it.

The creatures surrounded him. He waited for just a few seconds, then charged the one to his right, bringing the axe down, aiming for its skull. The leucrotta jumped to the side, but not fast enough, and fell in a puddle of his and its own blood.

Five left.

The leucrotta changed tactics. While two dived at him from in front, one or two more would attack him from behind, snapping at his legs, trying to get a bad enough bite to cripple him, but not stay close enough to get decapitated as their packmate had.

Varok put all his strength in the blow, and took another one out, not quite decapitating it but close. He kept the momentum of the swing and drove the bit of his axe into the side of another, mortally wounding it. It bit his right leg, ripping open a gaping wound in his calf. He finished it off, then spun on his good leg and used the Blade Storm maneuver to wound, if not kill, the other three. He managed to drop them.

Night had fallen. Not long after the last creature died, birdsong started back up. He heard the forest creatures resume their nocturnal activity. Satisfied, he began the long, painful walk back to his cabin. He just needed to rest.

His cabin was in sight, light on in the window welcoming him home, when his strength finally gave out. He fell heavily to his knees, then collapsed.

_Ancestors, please don’t let one of the children be the one to find me_ , he thought, and darkness took him.


	6. Little Lion

Crown Prince Anduin Llane Wrynn made sure he had everything with him. A hooded cloak to keep off the rain, check. His medical bag slung around his shoulder in case someone needed help, check. A pocket full of gold and silver pieces, to buy drinks for the off-duty guards (and maybe one for himself), check. He wouldn’t need his hearthstone - he wasn’t going far. Now, it was just a matter of some luck and good timing…

He stood on his balcony and waited for the precise moment the guards parted at the far end of the garden. It was an easy task to shimmy down the drainpipe to the ground, then duck into the heavy foliage, awaiting their passing. Then out the small servant’s gate, and he was away from the keep. The rain pelted down in that slow, steady manner of a good overnight soaking. For a few moments, Anduin turned his head to the sky, just enjoying the feel of the drops on his skin.

He walked to the edge of the canals, then decided to just wander around. Eventually, he found himself in Mage Quarter, all but deserted at this hour, save for the occasional adventurer heading up the ramp to use the portal room. He heard a strange ripping noise coming from the back of the tailor’s shop.

“Vandals?” he muttered to himself, and quickly leapt over the half wall separating the main thoroughfare from the back of the shops. What he’d heard certainly sounded like ripping cloth, but there was no cloth to be seen hanging up, other than the banners up high on the walls. No one was tampering with them, either. As he walked through the gloom, only dimly lit by mage candles, he heard it again.

Oh. _Oh_! He felt like a fool. They were _inside_ the shop, destroying the tailor’s wares! Pulling himself up to his full height, he opened the door in question, to find a large – hole – with magical fields all around it, rippling back and forth like a demented sea slug. Before he could decide what to do, or even cry out, the hole swallowed him.

Star fields, some constellations he recognized, most he didn’t, spun around him, as the breath was knocked out of him by the sheer speed at which he was travelling. He didn’t have words for this. Fast, faster, he spun through space, until a small speck became a planet became blues of ocean and the browns and greens of landmasses.

He was going to die. He prayed the impact was far enough away from others he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. He felt strangely at peace.

As he whooshed through the atmosphere, his speed slowed, until he landed in a forest, riotous with the colors of fall. His feet hit the earth with no more force than if he’d jumped off his bed. Anduin spoke a brief prayer of thanks to the Light for his safety, then surveyed the area. Night had fallen, but the moon that shone down was nearly full, illuminating the area well.

As far as he could see, hilly terrain, forested, with a mix of evergreens and oaks, a dogwood here and there. Anduin picked a likely direction and started walking, marveling at the colors Nature put on display, Her cloak of many colors before the winter set in.

A small rodent was even bold enough to come up, sniff at his boots, then scurry away into the underbrush. Anduin decided to follow the tiny creature as best he could. He heard insects buzzing and came upon a clearing. He stopped short in horror at what he found.

Nine creatures – two felines, seven almost stag like, but all unlike anything he’d ever seen, lay in clotting pools of their own blood. Whatever battle had taken place here, was very recent. The flies had just started to settle in for the feast.

Sickened, Anduin turned away, and saw the path of blood that led away from the carnage. He quickly skirted around some bushes, then followed the trail northward. The impressions in the grass could only be the boots of an orc, and a large one at that. Anduin took in a deep breath, blew it out, then followed the trail until he came across its maker.

Varok Saurfang lay face down in the grass.

Without thought or a second’s hesitation, Anduin ran over to the great old orc and knelt in the grass beside him. His pulse was slow, but strong and steady. His breathing was labored, but Anduin knew that had more to do with his position than his wounds. He carefully rolled the orc onto his side, and Varok’s breathing immediately eased.

Anduin nodded to himself. Shelter, first. It was well after dark now, and if those creatures were any indication of how dangerous this area was, well then. Anduin tore off a part of Varok’s pants and used it to temporarily bandage the wound on Varok’s leg. Then, he rolled the orc onto his back and dragged him the last few hundred feet to the cabin. Anduin had to pause and take a breather a few times, but he got the orc to the door.

Knocking on the door got no answer, so he tried the doorknob and found it was open. A quick recon showed no one was here, either. Based on the few belongings in the cabin, Anduin surmised this was Varok’s home. Good. Anduin got Varok into the cabin proper, shut the door, then called upon a simple spell to create more illumination.

Using his medical shears, Anduin quickly removed the rest of the scraps of Varok’s tunic and trousers. He unlaced and pulled Varok’s boots off, removed the blood-soaked socks, and tossed all the scraps of fabric aside. With that out of the way, Anduin assessed his patient. Large gashes in his chest and torso, a festering bite wound on his left forearm, pinprick wounds on either side of his head near his temples, gashes opened on both legs, and the gaping bite wound on his right calf. Anduin carefully lifted Varok’s leg and saw many more smaller bite wounds – almost nips – that had still broken the skin.

Varok was in very real danger of bleeding to death.

Anduin looked around for a water pitcher, any source of water to clean out the wounds. He saw a spigot – like device and headed over to it. After a bit of experimentation, he discovered the tap could produce cold and hot water. Perfect! He scooped up a clean bowl sitting on the counter, a rag hanging on one of the handles to the drawers and knelt beside Varok again. Working quickly, he cleaned out the wounds, dumping and refilling the bowl as he needed.

Then he called upon the Light to heal Varok. Most of the wounds closed over, but the gashes on his chest and torso only healed slightly, and the bite on his leg merely stopped bleeding. Anduin didn’t understand why, but it would have to do. At least the old orc wouldn’t bleed to death, now.

“Thank the Light I at least have enough bandages.”

The next order of business – getting Varok into his bed, to rest. Now that he had household items to use, it was a simple matter of getting a large blanket, rolling Varok onto it, then carefully dragging him the few dozen feet to his bed. With the help of a chair, Anduin managed to wrestle the much larger male into the bed. He pulled the covers up to Varok’s shoulders, then sat back in the large chair and took a moment to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

He was on a planet he’d never seen before, far away from the comforts of home, and if Varok’s condition was any indication, this place was far more dangerous than even Pandaria. He cursed his stupidity in not carrying the hearthstone Aunt Jaina had made for him, just in case. But no use in crying over spilt milk as the saying went.

Varok stirred a little in his sleep. Anduin reached over and stroked the old orc’s face, gentle and slow, murmuring. The effort worked. Varok quickly settled back down into the steady, even breathing of sleep. Anduin continued to stroke the old orc’s face, gliding down to his neck, before his hand came to rest on Varok’s shoulder. Anduin stopped himself. He very much doubted the Overlord of Kalimdor would appreciate being stroked like a cat. Even if it was only meant to soothe.

Anduin realized he was bone tired from the efforts of the day. He needed sleep as well. But there was only one bedroom in the cabin, and therefore only one bed. Anduin stood, the chair scraping loudly against the floorboards, as he removed his cloak. Unbidden, the thought of what it would feel like to lay against Varok, to trace his scars, to have those arms around him, flooded his mind.

With a self-depreciating laugh, Anduin pushed the thoughts away. He was certain Varok would have his pick of mates here in this new world.

So why did that thought make him feel so jealous?


	7. New Day

Anduin woke next to Varok’s still-sleeping form. In the end, he’d stripped down to his shirt and pants and crawled under the covers beside the wounded orc. He sat up, careful to not expose too much of Varok’s flesh to the fall morning chill and slid from the bed. He carefully covered Varok back up, then headed to the jakes to see to that need. After getting a drink of water, he gathered up Varok’s destroyed clothing and deposited it all out the back door.

Then came the chore of finding something to eat. Anduin found some sweet bread, some cheese in the cold box – what an interesting magical invention that was – and a bottle of what turned out to be ale. He sat at the kitchen table, feeling like a child again, just barely resisting the urge to kick his feet as he ate.

Anduin glanced out the picture window in the living area – and his mouth went dry. A group of mag’har - an elder, with two adult males and an adult female trailing behind him - walked purposefully up to Varok’s door. Before Anduin could think to hide, much less clean up the little mess he’d made, the elder opened the door.

“Varok?” the elder called out, stepping inside. He didn’t see Anduin right away, as he was looking over towards the bedroom. “Did you sleep in?”

The elder’s tone, teasing and friendly, did much to assuage Anduin’s fears. He still had to take a long drink and swallow a few times before he could answer.

“Varok is wounded, Elder,” Anduin said.

The elder, as well as the other three, whirled on him, and Anduin wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Well, hello there,” the elder said.

“Hey, Pop, he looks like a refugee from a Ren Faire,” the older of the two males said, grinning at Anduin.

“Zakk,” the elder admonished.

“Sorry,” Zakk said, still grinning a bit. Anduin could see he meant no real malice.

“First things first. I am Elder Tumag, of the Skullcrusher tribe. This is my older son Junzakk, my younger son Brokk, and my daughter in law, Terzha.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Anduin Wrynn.”

Tumag’s eyes narrowed. “Son of Varian?”

“Yes, Elder.”

Tumag merely nodded. “Terzha, go check on Varok. Anduin, please. Tell me what happened.”

Anduin told them of what he’d seen, describing the creatures as best he could. “Varok had made it to within a hundred feet of the door. It was raining, and cold – I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“You did the right thing,” Tumag reassured him.

“Pops, it’s bad,” Terzha said. “I can’t get him to wake up all the way. His eyes open, but then he just goes right back to sleep.”

“He lost so much blood,” Anduin said. “He could have died last night.”

“Zakk go get Doctor J, or Kelendra, or whoever’s at the clinic,” Tumag said. “Brokk, go with him. Whatever Doctor J needs, grab from the Trading Post, put it on my account.” The two males nodded their assent, then bounded out the door, loping off out of sight.

Terzha went out the back door and made an exclamation of some sort. Anduin’s cheeks reddened. Tumag raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t want to leave his bloody clothes in the kitchen, they’re ruined,” Anduin explained himself.

“Smart move,” Tumag commented mildly.

The two sat at the kitchen table for several minutes. Finally, Anduin couldn’t handle the silence anymore and got up. He carried his dishes to the sink, then headed to the bedroom to check on Varok.

What he found worried him. Varok’s pulse was slower, thready, and his breathing was labored again. Anduin laid his hand on Varok’s forehead and was alarmed at the warmth. The wounded old orc was feverish, and at his age, that was dangerous. Anduin got the bowl and another clean rag, filled it with water, and headed to the bedroom.

Tumag helped him bathe Varok, and once they’d finished, Anduin used up the last of his bandages to re-wrap all his wounds.

Tumag went outside to watch for his family. Anduin sat on the edge of the bed, holding Varok’s hand. There was just something so… pure, and vulnerable, about the old orc that stirred _places_ in Anduin’s heart.

The spell was broken when a strangle female elf, her ebon skin set off by her mane of silver hair, bustled in.

“Varok?” she called. When she got no response, she headed to the opposite side of the bed from Anduin.

“Report,” she said.

Anduin went over all Varok’s wounds, describing what he’d done to treat them, noted his pulse, breathing, and fever, and added that Terzha couldn’t rouse him completely. “I estimate Varok lost about half his blood volume before I was able to heal him and stop the bleeding.”

Doctor J nodded; her expression grim. She assessed Varok, sighed, and pulled out a small device Anduin didn’t recognize.

“Kelendra, I need two IV lines, four liters of saline, Ceftriaxone, ten point eight, and an oxygen tank and cannula, large, stat. Varok’s cabin. When you have the time, I need you to make a kit, large pads, large bandage rolls, Bactroban tube. Thanks, love.” She listened for a moment. “He’s a tough one. He’ll be fine.” She put the device back in her pocket.

Doctor J’s eyes flicked to Anduin.

“You’re committed to staying here and taking care of our patient?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good. How much medical training have you had?”

“Some, but I’m not familiar with the technology of this place. Varok and I are from the same world, if that helps.”

“Can you stitch a wound closed?”

“Yes Doctor, I’ve done that many times before.”

“Excellent.” Doctor J sighed. “Stay with him. If he does manage to regain consciousness, keep him calm.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

With that, Doctor J also headed outside to wait for the medical equipment.

Within half an hour, the equipment arrived. Doctor J, along with Anduin and Tumag, made Varok comfortable. Within an hour, Varok’s breathing was much easier, his pulse a bit stronger. The others left, except Terzha, who took pity on him and taught him the basics of cooking.

“I’ll be by later on, after dinner, to check on you,” Terzha said.

“Thank you. For everything,” Anduin said sincerely.

“You’re welcome. See you!” she said cheerfully.

Anduin sat beside Varok. He took one of the wounded old orc’s massive hands, laid it in his lap, and settled himself in for his vigil. He found himself tracing the veins in Varok’s hands, the scars, the callouses from wielding a weapon for so many years. Mindful of the IV line dripping precious medicine into his bloodstream, Anduin carefully traced further up, onto Varok’s forearm. He lightly traced the scars he found there, almost all of them older than Anduin himself.

Anduin scooted closer, leaving Varok’s arm in his lap, and reached out to stroke his face. His strong chin, his lips, his large and small tusks. Anduin was fascinated by their textures. Doctor J had removed Varok’s nose ring, so the cannula could preform its function. Anduin could see the hole in Varok’s septum where it belonged.

His hand drifted to Varok’s neck, to his pulse. Too slow, too weak for such a large male. Anduin sighed. Varok could die, so easily. Just slip away from him, and there was so little Anduin could do. The thought panicked him a little. His hand slid to Varok’s chest, over his heart. He could barely register its rise and fall. Varok’s heartbeat, under his hand, felt so slight. 

He bowed his head. “Holy Light, I come before you on behalf of Varok,” he prayed. “His wounds are great, and I fear for his life.” Anduin couldn’t continue with the rote prayer. “Please, spare him. He’s been through so much. He’s nearly died, protecting the land and the people he loves.” Anduin choked on his own tears. “Please,” he begged the Light. “Please, help him.” Anduin raised the old orc’s massive hand to his cheek, and held it there, tears streaming down his face.

He couldn’t explain, even to himself, what had stirred up so much emotion. Perhaps it was just seeing the war veteran laying there, so still, so badly injured. Perhaps it was because Varok was the only one he knew, the only person who made sense in this strange new world.

At one point, Anduin had to lay the old orc’s arm back by his side. He needed to eat, and maybe to figure out how to bathe. He certainly needed it. He dug through the items in the cold box – “fridge”, Terzha had called it – until he found enough to make a simple meal. After he ate, he cleaned up the small mess he’d made, then headed to the jakes – the bathroom, he corrected himself.

The spigot in the bath worked the same as the one in the kitchen did, thank the Light for small favors. Anduin stripped to the skin and slid into the warm water. It took only a few minutes for his body to relax a bit. Anduin laid back, resting his head on the edge of the tub, and just let his body rest and his mind wander.

_Varok’s warm, calloused hands ran the length of his body, sending shivers up his spine, then down into his very core. He whined, aching to be held closer, his need evidenced by his own aching cock, erect and_ wanting _. The orc’s massive hand caught both of his wrists; he struggled, futilely, as Varok unhurriedly_ …

“Anduin? Are you in the tub?” Terzha’s voice called out from the kitchen.

“Yes,” he answered, in what he hoped was a calm tone.

“I brought you dinner, hurry up, you want to eat this while it’s still warm.”

“Be right out!” Anduin called. He dressed quickly, hoping between the tunic and the tight breeches he wore his little problem wouldn’t be obvious.

If it was, she made no comment upon it. “Eat, I know you’re hungry.”

“Thank you.” Anduin sat at the table and enjoyed steak, potatoes, and some vegetable he didn’t recognize but was delectable all the same. Terzha made sure he washed his meal down with plenty of ale, or as she called it, bub.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

_A healer to check my head, because I’m obviously going insane_. “I’m fine, thank you,” Anduin answered, smiling.

She gave him a cheerful wave, then left. Anduin was startled to realize it was close to dusk. He hurried to the other room, checked on Varok, then settled back to his vigil. As he had earlier, he pulled Varok’s hand into both of his own, pressing scarred knuckles into his cheek. Varok would be all right.

He had to be.

Varok’s hand closed around both of his, squeezing a bit. Anduin looked up into the orcs’ face, and saw his eyes were open.

“You’re awake!” Anduin rejoiced.

Varok answered his smile with a slight one of his own, then settled back to sleep.


	8. New Dog, Old Tricks

Varok woke in his own bed, with a strange plastic thing in his nose, needles in both hands, feeling like he’d been run over by a rather long succession of war machines. Someone held his hand, light cool fingers tracing his old battle scars. It felt so good. It had been so long… He was so tired. Opening his eyes felt like far too much effort.

A chair scraped, and cool fingers caressed his chin, his lips, his tusks. Varok felt weak, weaker than he had just a few moments ago. He had to resist the urge to kiss those fingers, to nibble at the hand so gently caressing him. He had no idea who his admirer was, but he welcomed the contact. He had no idea how badly he needed it until someone finally got close enough to touch him. The hand slid down his cheek to the pulse in his neck. His admirer was a trained healer, knew exactly where to check, but also had a swordsman’s callouses. Odd.

His admirer sighed, a gusty sound born of worry, confirming his gender. The hand slid onto his bare chest. The canny old orc sternly controlled his breathing, lest that give him away as awake. He wanted to see what his admirer would do; how far would he go. If it weren’t for the fact half Varok’s blood was nourishing the forest…

He had to control himself further when Anduin began to pray. Varok felt the Light, felt it in a way he never had before. It swirled around him, gently bidding him sleep, heal. It was almost a tangible _being_. He couldn’t have resisted if he’d wanted to; the Light was far too powerful.

And so, he slept.

Varok woke sometime later – moonlight shone through his bedroom window – to find Anduin holding his hand. Varok’s knuckles were pressed into the young one’s cheek. Varok squeezed, ever so slightly, and opened his eyes. Anduin squeaked with joy, clasping his hand tighter. Varok closed his eyes, smiling slightly. He trusted the All-Father _. Everything happens for a reason_ , he thought as darkness took him. When Varok woke again, the wan light of pre-dawn barely filtered past the curtains. He was tethered to the bed by the IV’s and the oxygen, but damn it all, he was _starving_. He looked to his left, and saw Anduin curled up under the covers, head pillowed against his bicep, sound asleep. He looked peaceful. And young. _So young_. Varok looked around the room, and saw the rest of Anduin’s clothing, tossed casually over the back of the chair. Cold washed over him to the point of making him shiver.

Varok had last seen Anduin wearing similar garments when they were in Pandaria, at Garrosh’s trial. It looked like the same outfit. Before the Cataclysm. Before the Legion. He looked down at the boy who would one day be king, the boy who’d entrusted him with Shalamayne, the boy who would stand by his side - blue and gold with red and black - against the true enemy within.

The wounded old orc looked down at the peacefully sleeping young man and did not see _Alliance_. Did not see _human_. Anduin’s caresses, his care, told the truth of his feelings.

Varok looked upon his _mate_.

The feeling of certainty, of rightness, that washed over him confirmed his revelation. Carefully, he lifted his arm, letting it rest along Anduin’s side, and pulled him close. Anduin stirred but did not wake. Varok knew Tumag or Doctor J would check in soon enough. He settled himself in to wait. He had endured far worse, far more often, in his life than waiting for his mate to wake so they could break their fast together.

Of course, Varok was correct. Tumag showed up with Terzha in tow, not long after full dawn.

“Varok! Good to see you’re awake!” Tumag gripped his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Varok replied, almost a growl.

Anduin stirred, then woke up. “Good morning,” he chirped.

“Anduin! Feed your charge! He’s hungry!” Tumag laughed.

“Yes, Elder,” Anduin smiled, slid out of bed, and padded into the kitchen to help Terzha make breakfast.

“How bad was it? Anduin told us what he saw when he found you but he’s completely unfamiliar with these creatures,” Tumag leaned in and spoke quietly.

“Seven greater leucrotta, two displacer beasts. The leucrotta were herding the displacers for sport.”

Tumag leaned back and sighed. “Did any escape?”

“No. I made sure of it.”

“Good.” Tumag weighed his next words. “What of you and the boy?”

“He is a man, Tumag, and the All Father has brought him into my life. I have rarely been more certain of things.” Varok tried to sit up.

Tumag helped him, arranging the pillows to make the older orc more comfortable. “You’re no barkeep, old man.”

“Seeing the All-Father’s hand in this doesn’t require that particular skill set, old man. Of the three thousand miles length and fifteen hundred depth of this country, Anduin shows up a scant hundred feet from where I lay?” Varok raised an eyebrow.

Tumag nodded. “And you plan to take him as your mate.”

“In time. If he is willing.”

“I don’t foresee a problem with that,” Tumag said airily.

“There is much for him to adapt to and overcome. He will justifiably be afraid of the Skullcrushers until he has spent some time among us.”

“Justifiably?” Tumag quoted, raising his own eyebrow.

“I told you of Garrosh Hellscream, Anduin nearly died at his hands.”

And Garrosh was mag’har,” Tumag said, remembering. “Anduin doesn’t seem to be afraid of me.”

“He is wary of you and does not trust your motives. He will change his mind when he sees how we interact.”

“Ah. I see.”

“My true concern is when his father comes to find him. Nela Village, as far as Varian is concerned, would be considered a den of traitors and enemies. He can listen to reason,” Varok added. “But that doesn’t happen often enough.”

All Father willing, it won’t come to that,” Tumag said easily. “And here is our breakfast. Thank you both.”

Anduin and Terzha brought in plates for everyone. Much to Varok’s secret amusement, Anduin insisted on feeding him. Varok, of course, made a big show of being embarrassed.

After the meal, Anduin all but confirmed Varok’s words by crawling back into the place he’d occupied while he was asleep – opposite Tumag. Varok ruffled the younger man’s hair as he spoke with the other Elder. Tumag noted that yes, Anduin became more and more comfortable around them the longer he and Varok talked.

Just before the noon meal, Doctor J came in and checked on Varok. Pleased with his progress, she removed one IV, changed the other, and allowed him to get up and walk to the bathroom with Tumag’s assistance. That was a great relief, in more ways than one.

After the noon meal, Varok and Tumag’s conversation turned towards Anduin, now napping in the crook of Varok’s arm.

“He’ll need to speak to the agents,” Tumag reminded him.

Varok growled.

“And he’ll need to learn to read and write English,” Tumag continued.

“I’m not worried about that part,” Varok smiled down at Anduin’s peaceful, sleeping face. “He’s very intelligent. Learning English and Civics will be easy for him.”

“You’re worried the agents will discover how to transport him back to his homeland,” Tumag guessed.

“I would not stop him; he has living family. I do not.” Varok said, quietly. “But I would speak to his father. I would warn them of what is to come. And I would pray that for once, the stubborn Wolf Lo’Gosh listens.”

“And that is all you can do, my dear friend. Lead a horse to water and all that,” Tumag said. “Think the young one can forage up enough to feed you for the night?” he asked.

“I believe so. Especially since Terzha has been teaching him how to cook,” Varok smiled down at his mate. “We’ll be all right.”

“Good. You get some _rest_ ,” Tumag gave him a wink.

Varok pretended to be scandalized. After Tumag and his family had left, he settled back for a nap, wrapping his arm around Anduin’s soundly sleeping form.

Anduin woke him for the evening meal, insisting on feeding him again, which Varok ‘grudgingly tolerated’. Once he’d cleaned up in the kitchen, Anduin sat down by Varok’s side.

Without fear or hesitation, Anduin reached over to stroke the wounded orc’s face.

“You must be so miserable,” Anduin said. “Would you like a bath?”

“I would,” Varok rumbled.

“I’ll go get it started,” Anduin smiled, and dashed over to the bathroom.

“You already have,” Varok muttered under his breath. Anduin didn’t hear him, thankfully, because of the splashing of the water into the tub. Varok steeled himself, then carefully lifted his legs over the side and made his way to the bathroom. Anduin stood back to allow the wounded orc to get in the tub at his own pace.

Once he was in the warm water, Anduin sat on the edge of the tub, combing out all the tangles in Varok’s hair. He was unbelievably gentle. Varok had no idea what, exactly, the younger man planned, so he closed his eyes. Best that it be a surprise.

“It’s all right, Varok. You can sleep if you like,” Anduin said as softly as he could. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to go back to bed.”

Varok rumbled in assent.

Anduin washed the orc’s hair, gently, without getting even a drop of soap on Varok’s face. Then he lathered up, and Anduin’s hands were on his skin, bathing every inch of him. Varok sighed as Anduin’s hands slid over his arms. He leaned Varok forward and washed his back. Anduin gently leaned Varok back against the tub. Mindful of the healing gashes but not deterred by them, Anduin bathed his chest.

And then his hands slid lower, over Varok’s abdomen, then his thighs, across his already swelling member. Anduin continued down his legs, lifting first one, then the other, to complete his ministrations. He rinsed the older orc off gently, then drew fresh water.

“Hmm?” Varok rumbled.

“I want to – to lay with you,” Anduin said quickly.

Varok opened his eyes just in time to see Anduin’s pale bare body, before the limber young man crawled into the tub with him. Carefully arranging his long limbs, he laid his head on Varok’s chest.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around the boy’s lithe frame. He felt so good, so _right_ , laying there, his hair spilled out over Varok’s shoulder. Some time passed, and then Anduin shifted, leaning his body down.

Varok bit back a moan as Anduin’s lips brushed his cock. Slowly, one hand on Varok’s broad chest for balance, the other cupping his balls, Anduin took some of Varok’s length in his mouth. He sucked, licked, watching Varok’s expression all the while, changing tactics when Varok’s expression grew too neutral. Varok’s massive hands wrapped themselves in Anduin’s hair, encouraging him to go faster, and Anduin obliged. Anduin moaned when he tasted pre-cum, then took as much of Varok’s massive member in his mouth as he could. Anduin’s hand moved from Varok’s balls to the base of his shaft, and as he sucked and moaned and licked, he squeezed. Varok thought he would come undone, until at last his seed spilled into Anduin’s all-too-willing mouth. His jaw worked as he swallowed every drop he was given.

Varok opened his eyes a few moments later, to Anduin watching him anxiously.

“Amazing,” Varok rumbled, and pulled the young man back into his arms.

They lay that way until the water grew cold.


	9. Light

At some point, Varok and Anduin made it back to the warmth of the bed. Anduin made sure Varok’s IV and oxygen were on properly, then collapsed, nude, into his favorite spot in the crook of Varok’s arm. The old orc watched the younger man sleep, his thoughts twisting around in circles like angered snakes. He knew he wouldn’t get any productive thinking done until he’d calmed down from the unexpected encounter.

Varok snorted. That wasn’t sex. That was cock worship, plain and simple. Anduin simply watched his face and did what made the old orc feel good. And it had. Outside of a few drunken nights when he’d masturbated just to take the edge off his need, he hadn’t had an encounter like that since he courted his wife. Being with a male was the only way Varok could enjoy companionship and sexual congress without dishonoring the commitment he’d made to his mate and the mother of his only son. For the thousandth time, his mind wandered over the events of his life. Could he have done anything any differently? Would he? Would it have mattered, either way?

“Garrosh,” Anduin whimpered. He spoke so clearly, Varok thought he’d awoken. He glanced down to see Anduin’s sweet features contorted in fear or anger, it was difficult to tell which, but his eyes were still closed.

“I’m right here, Anduin,” Varok spoke softly. “I’m by your side, I will protect you,” he hugged the young man closer.

Anduin settled, his face relaxing. His lips parted, and Varok’s cock twitched at just what those lips could do… Damn it all, why did he have to still be attached to the machines? He felt fine. A little tired, maybe, but that was to be expected. He was rising sixty-four years old, for the All-Father’s sake!

Varok calmed himself by reaching over and stroking Anduin’s face, ever so gently. He marveled at how much his hand could cover of that peacefully sleeping face. He ran his fingers through strands of golden silk, then traced the ridge of Anduin’s brows. His hand rested on Anduin’s bare shoulder, and the former High Overlord of Kalimdor was finally able to sleep.

The next morning, Doctor J stopped by early, and thank the All-Father, Varok was disconnected from all the asinine machines. She had Tumag’s boys run the equipment back to the clinic, checked him over, then left.

Varok and Anduin had just enough time to shower and dress before Tumag and his family came by for breakfast. All during the day, Varok tried to find a moment to talk to Anduin, to warn him of what was to come, but there was so much else going on. Finally, after a lively evening meal, Tumag and his family left.

“Are they always this generous?’ Anduin asked, surveying the clothes, shoes, and other items Tumag and his children had brought.

“Yes,” Varok answered. “You made quite a good impression on them.”

“They’re wonderful people.”

“Indeed. Tumag took me into his home when I first arrived here.”

“Did they help you with clothing, too?”

“Everything I own but my armor and my axe is of their generosity. Why don’t you put your things away, and then come out to the back porch? I need to speak with you.”

Varok had read only a few pages of his book when Anduin appeared and stopped just short of crawling in Varok’s lap. He put his book down and scooped up the young human. While he considered how best to explain, Anduin gently smoothed his braids, then settled his head on Varok’s bare shoulder.

“What happened when you arrived here? Tell me everything from the past week at least,” Varok finally spoke.

“Father and I returned from Garrosh’s trial, and not much really happened except me laying about in my room, healer’s orders. I got so bored; I just couldn’t stand it anymore! I’m perfectly fine! So, I waited until after dark, watched the guards, and when the moment was right, I slipped out of my room and went walking about the city.”

“Any particular destination?”

“I planned to go to a few of the inns, to speak to the guards and maybe have a glass of something nice. I only ever get tea or juice with meals; wine is for special occasions.”

“And everyone – even in the Horde – knows your father regularly consumes his weight in ale.”

Instead of taking offense, Anduin giggled. “Too true. I found myself in Mage Quarter – I was going to go to the Blue Recluse – and I heard fabric ripping. At least that’s what it sounded like. I went to investigate, figured out the sound was coming from inside a tailor’s shop. I was so angry – someone was just destroying that tailor’s livelihood! I opened the door – it was unlocked – and there was this black, long thing, floating about three feet off the floor. Before I knew it, it had me, and I was here.”

“Did this thing strike you as sentient?”

“That’s the strange thing. No. It looked more like a portal. The blurry edges were there, but it was the wrong shape – it reminded me of the sea slugs in Pandaria’s waters, more than anything else.”

Varok snorted.

“Bad analogy, I know. But I seriously don’t think it was an entity. I think it was a… a thing.”

“Of course, when you went to investigate, you didn’t call for any guards. You didn’t ask one of the champions to accompany you.”

“There was no one about, at all.”

“So, you’ve effectively just disappeared without a trace. Who was the last person to see you?”

“Will, my valet.”

“I assume he’s above reproach.”

“Oh, absolutely. Father trusts him implicitly.”

“Then Varian is going to search for you, ask champions to look for you. When that search turns up nothing, he’ll send the sin’dorei girl to Vol’jin. Of course, the Warchief knows nothing of this and will tell him that.”

“What do you think Vol’jin will do?” Anduin asked anxiously.

“Despite all that has occurred, Vol’jin thinks well of your father, and he will make his own inquiries to see if some champion of the Horde is in the process of dragging you to Grommash Hold for a reward. When that doesn’t happen, he will consult the loa Bwonsamdi to discover if you are dead, so Varian can have at least some peace.”

“The loa won’t lie to Vol’jin, right?” Anduin asked, anxious.

“I don’t think so. But I don’t know what they can find out about this place. This world is protected by many, many deities of its own. A loa may not be able to reach here.”

Anduin nodded.

“There are other things I must tell you. I swear to you upon my ancestors, the spirits, and my son’s grave every word I speak is truth.”

Anduin nodded. “I believe you.”

Varok told Anduin everything that occurred, from the return of the Legion, to his supposed death at the hands of Sylvanas in that joke of a Mak’gora. They spoke late into the night, Varok answering Anduin’s many questions as best he could, with the knowledge gained from his time in Grommash Hold.

“But, Varok, how can we make my father see?” Anduin all but wailed. “He’ll say this is all nonsense.”

“I don’t know, sweet small one,” Varok sighed. “But we must.”

They were quiet for a time, listening to the wind blow through the trees, to the nocturnal insects and creatures going about their business. The scents of wood smoke mingled with a few late-blooming flowers. To Varok, that scent meant _home_.

Anduin stifled a yawn, and shivered.

“Come, sweet, it is time for bed.”

They were both exhausted, and soon fell asleep.

A terrible crash brought Varok to full wakefulness; he surveyed the room, Anduin tucked safely against his side, and just as quickly relaxed. Winds buffeted the cabin; rain lashed against the windows, and another terrific crash of thunder pealed through the room. Anduin woke up just a few moments later.

“It’s just a storm,” Varok rumbled soothingly.

‘Varok?" Lightning flashed again, illuminating the bedroom as bright as day; Anduin’s face was a study in pure lust.

Varok’s heart pounded like war drums. He seized Anduin, pulled him in for a ferocious kiss, all the while sliding his hands along the prince’s smooth alabaster skin. Anduin submitted to him, completely, melting into his embrace, opening his mouth for Varok’s exploratory pleasure.

The old orc soon changed tactics, tossing the young man on the bed flat on his back, his arms pinned at the wrists above his head by one large hand. With the other, Varok teased the young man’s body, pinching pink nipples, swirling his hand over Anduin’s abdomen, down to his near-full erection. Varok stroked the soft skin, teased the shaft and the tip in equal measure, until he wrested a whine out of Anduin.

“Hmm. You enjoy that, do you?”

“Yes, please, please, more? Please?” Anduin begged.

Varok chuckled, low and earthy. He reached over and dug a small bottle out of the nightstand drawer.

“Oh, my little prince, my sweet,” he rumbled. “I made you a promise. And now it will be kept.”

Anduin’s only answer was to struggle in vain, whimpering, watching Varok’s hand all the while. Varok laid the bottle on Anduin’s belly and released his wrists. Anduin stayed where he was, watching, as Varok unhurriedly uncapped the bottle, dripped some of the liquid onto his finger, and then, pinning the young man down with one hand, he pushed his lubed finger right up against Anduin’s entrance.

“Please, yes, take me, make me yours. I need you; I want you, please?”

“You want my finger inside you?”

“Yes, please?”

Varok smiled and slid one finger just inside the hole.

“Ung! Oh, it feels so good. Deeper? Please?”

Varok slowly slid his finger in to the second knuckle, then back and forth, until Anduin relaxed a bit.

“Good. Good, my sweet. Relax. Breathe.”

Anduin did as he was told, and soon Varok could fit another finger inside. When Anduin stopped making much noise beyond a whimper or two, Varok removed both fingers.

“Please, don’t stop?” Anduin begged.

Varok chuckled again. “My sweet, I’m only getting started.”

He noted Anduin’s body shudder in pleasure at the mere thought of what those words entailed.

As fast as the lightning strobing the cabin, Varok pounced, and soon had Anduin neatly pinned, his wrists in one massive hand, his other on his own cock, teasing Anduin’s dripping hole.

“Inside me? Please? I want to feel you inside me, all the way inside me, please?” Anduin begged.

At his last pleaded word, Varok thrust into the boy, just enough to sink the head of his cock inside. The young man’s back arched, his hips thrusting almost of their own accord, trying to get more. After a moment – Varok sternly controlled the desire to simply lean over the smaller man and ravage him – his cock went another inch or so deeper. Anduin’s pleas became incoherent, whimpers and half-formed words, his hips bucking, straining to receive even more.

“So eager,” Varok purred, and leaned forward then, resting just a bit of his weight onto Anduin’s much smaller frame. “So, you think you can handle all of me?”

When it was clear Varok wouldn’t move until he got an answer, Anduin took a deep breath.

“Yes, please, please, more, all of it, fuck me, fuck me hard, please!”

Varok leaned down and caught Anduin’s lips in another ferocious kiss, his tusks scraping the sides of the younger man’s neck in some places. His tongue plundered Anduin’s mouth, finding no resistance. And as he did so, Varok rocked forward. Another two inches. Anduin sucked on Varok’s tongue, greedily, as if he were sucking cock.

When Varok broke the kiss, panting, Anduin was still writhing and whimpering underneath him. Varok withdrew, until his cock was free of Anduin’s hole, and in a few swift moves, he’d picked Anduin up, spun him around onto his belly, then lifted his ass in the air by grabbing his hips. In another three seconds, Varok was inside him again, thrusting in slow easy arcs against the bucking of Anduin’s hips, driving himself deeper and deeper until Anduin’s hole took all of him in.

Varok growled, leaned over, and lifted Anduin’s right shoulder off the bed. He bit into the sweet spot, at the junction of neck and shoulder, just enough pressure to exert control, but not enough to break the skin, and thrust in earnest. Anduin moaned, and yielded to him, sweet surrender of a different sort than the battlefield. Even better, in Varok’s opinion.

He couldn’t hold back any longer; Anduin’s moans and his sweet soft body underneath him were making him lose his mind. He pumped with all he had, slamming into Anduin time and again, feeling that sweet release building, building, until he filled the prince with his seed. Anduin’s cry of pure ecstasy mingled with his half-voiced roar of conquest. Varok reached around and felt that the young man had found his release as well.

They collapsed into a heap on the bed, falling back asleep in each other’s arms, as the thunderstorm rolled over the forest.


	10. Lessons

The morning after the thunderstorm, once power had been restored, Varok called Agent Romero.

“What can I do you for, big guy?” the agent said easily.

“Another person from my world has ended up here,” Varok answered. “He’ll need the paperwork only you and your fellow agents can provide.”

“You got it. He’s with you?”

Varok chose to ignore the implications inherent in that simple question. “Yes.”

“No problem! Cheyenne and I will be there – say around two?”

“I’ll have tea ready.”

Agent Romero chuckled. “Thanks. Always appreciated. See you!”

Varok hung up and looked up to see Anduin regarding him as if he’s pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

“Cell phone,” Varok explained. “One of Earth’s greatest achievements,” his lips twitched.

“I’d have to argue that,” Anduin grinned. “These are,” he tugged at the waistband of his jeans.

“Hmm. You might have a point,” Varok allowed. “Come, we need to eat breakfast, and I need to start teaching you this language.” Varok got up and headed to the kitchen.

Anduin followed him. “I don’t understand.”

“While the spoken part is the same, English uses a different alphabet, which you’ll need to learn.”

“English.”

“Is what the natives call Common. I’m just thankful I learned it years ago.”

“What paperwork?” Anduin asked.

“In this country, all citizens are required to have certain forms of identification on their person. Law Enforcement can request you show this identification at any time, and if you do not possess it, that can cause legal issues.”

“Ah. And you want to make sure everything is legal.”

“While I have every confidence Jaina and Khadgar will eventually figure out how to find you, I have no idea how long it will take them, and in the interim, some book learning would not be amiss, yes?”

“I love to learn new things. I love to travel, too,” Anduin said, taking the orange juice Varok poured for him.

“Once we have the paperwork Agent Romero will leave for us, then we can do a bit of exploring,” Varok smiled. “I need to get out more as well.”

“Yes, you do,” Anduin agreed. “Tumag called you an old homebody.”

“He’s not wrong.”

After breakfast, Varok gave Anduin the English primer he’d used, and set him the task of the first chapter. They sat at the kitchen table, Anduin eagerly devouring the contents of the book, Varok sitting back with tea and a book of his own. The morning passed peacefully, the only sounds the turning of pages, the sipping of tea, and very occasionally, Anduin’s question on this or that subject.

Varok prepared a light meal of sandwiches and a salad, introducing Anduin to the concept of salad dressings. As Varok suspected, Anduin preferred ranch. The boy had unsophisticated tastes, even if he was raised as a royal. But then again, Varian didn’t allow Anduin to drink much alcohol, either. Varok snorted.

Until the agents arrived a few hours later, Anduin continued to study his primer. He’d already completed three chapters in the short time he’d been studying.

At precisely two pm. Agent Romero and Agent Penczak arrived. Varok let them in, and of course, had tea already poured into cups.

Agent Romero asked Anduin the exact same questions in the exact same order, noted down his answers, then the three of them took a walk to where Anduin arrived. Agent Penczak cast some magics at the general area, then they walked back to Varok’s cabin.

Agent Romero explained the intricacies of becoming a US citizen, reassuring Anduin it would not affect his standing with Stormwind, as the Oath was to the United States specifically.

“Do you have Cathy’s number, Varok?” Agent Penczak asked.

“Yes,” Varok answered.

“Excellent. As soon as she’s available, I’m sure she’ll have no problem helping Anduin.”

The two agents left.

“Who’s Cathy?” Anduin asked.

The strange little sharpness in his tone made Varok regard him with surprise. “A tutor. She helps others learn English and Civics.”

“Do you speak to her often?”

“She’s called me a time or two, but I wouldn’t say we’re close.”

“Oh. All right then.” Anduin relaxed. It was all Varok could do to not laugh and hurt the prince’s feelings.

“She’s very patient,” Varok remarked.

“She would have to be,” Anduin smirked.

“Insolent Whelp. Chapter four, before dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Anduin spared him a moment of puppy dog eyes, but then opened the book.

Will, loyal servant of House Wrynn for now three generations, let himself into the Prince’s chamber to open the curtains. Frowning, he closed the window letting in the night’s chill, but thought nothing of it. As he performed his tasks, things he’d done thousands of times before, he listened for the Prince’s awakening. The room was quiet. Will was only minorly concerned when he reached the enormous four-poster bed. When he drew the curtains surrounding it back, his breath caught in his throat.

The Prince’s bed was empty. It had not been used the night before.

“Guards!” Will whispered. He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Guards!” he shouted, and a dozen plate-booted feet answered his summons. Will wandered outside and sat down, hard, in a chair in the hallway.

“No signs of forced entry.” “Nothing in the bathing rooms.” “His cloak and pack are missing.”

“Sir, his hearthstone. Right here on the table.”

“Then he can’t have gotten far.”

“We’ll need to inform His Majesty.”

Will scrambled to his feet, still a little out of breath from the shock. He would be expected to report with the men.

Two of the guards headed down the hallway to the king’s private chambers. At this hour, his Majesty would be seeing to his dress.

Will knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Varian’s rough voice carried.

“Your Majesty,” Will began, then had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “Prince Anduin is – he’s missing!”

Varian’s eyes flicked to the two guards.

“Has his room been searched?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The guard told Varian what had been found.

“Shaw!”

“Your Majesty,” Shaw’s voice emanated from a shadowed corner of the room.

“Anduin. Re-trace his steps and find him!”

“Of course, your majesty.” Shaw disappeared.

Not an hour later, Shaw returned to his King’s side, in the royal study.

“Has he been found?” Varian demanded.

“No, your majesty.”

“Report.”

“Prince Anduin used the window to reach the downspouts. After waiting for a few moments, probably for the guards to meet on the far side of the garden, he slipped out the servant’s gate. One of our Champions next reports him at the canals. The Champion assumed the Prince was headed for the Cathedral and paid him no mind.”

“Do you have this champion available?”

“Yes, your majesty, as well as the two others who spotted the Prince in his wanderings.”

“Good. Continue.”

“According to the acolyte minding the Cathedral entrance last night, the Prince never entered, at least not from 11 of the bells until his shift ended at 7 of the bells. The other acolytes did not see him as well. Our next Champion spotted the Prince near the Gilded Rose, in Trade District. She said the Prince paused for a moment, as if considering entering, but changed his mind and headed for the canals again, likely heading towards Mage Quarter. Her assumption was correct. The last Champion to spot the Prince said he saw him in Mage Quarter, near the tailor’s shop, and reported seeing the Prince hop over the half-wall, heading for the back of the shops.”

“And why didn’t the Champion interfere? Or at least go and see what my son was up to?” Varian asked.

“By his own admission, the champion was somewhat inebriated, and admitted he thought the Prince had found a lover, and this was nothing more than a romantic rendezvous.”

“But he got the impression Anduin was on his way to meet someone,” Varian sighed.

“Yes, your Majesty. I would also like to point out that in Baine’s last missive to the Prince, he expressed a desire to meet, to discuss the current state of relations between the factions.”

“You think this is relevant?”

“It is a possibility, your majesty, nothing more. Until we have more information, we need to consider all avenues.”

“True. Keep looking. And keep me informed. The Champions are to speak nothing of this.”

“I’ll make sure they understand, your majesty.” And Shaw was gone.

Shaw personally searched every nook and cranny the young Prince could have wedged himself into, throughout the entirety of the city, until he was certain Anduin was not within the walls. Further complicating the matter, the youngest of the three champions to spot Anduin, a mage named Joritta, found a scrap of the Prince’s cloak inside the tailor’s shop where Anduin had last been seen.

“Spymaster, this piece of cloth reeks of magic, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what,” she told him solemnly. “I’ve been racking my brain, searching the library, but I can’t come up with anything.”

Shaw took the parcel from her. “Thank you, Joritta. Keep looking and keep your ear to the ground. Let me know if there are any rumors about the Prince, specifically, if he was seeing someone on the quiet.”

She nodded. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

Eight and a half minutes later, the parcel, Shaw, and Varian were in Varian’s study.

“If you haven’t already, send for Jaina. She might be able to figure this out,” Varian said.

“She should be arriving within the hour,” Shaw answered. “I sent for her as I was making my way here.”

“You’ve verified this belongs to Anduin,” Varian heaved a sigh.

“Yes, your Majesty. Will confirmed it was the very cloak he’d laid out for the Prince the night before. It has a small anomaly in the hem near the bottom,” Shaw pointed to the offending stitching, “so it is only used for informal occasions.”

“Suddenly I’m very glad my son isn’t a clotheshorse, or we may not have even had this.”

“Had what?” Jaina asked as she glided in.

“Jaina! Thank the Light you’re here!” Varian got up from his seat to give his sister a hug. “Anduin’s managed to get himself into something, and all we have to go on is three drunken champion’s words and a piece of fabric.”

“Sounds about right for Anduin.” Jaina examined the scrap of cloak. She cast a few spells, and sighed.

“Anything?” Varian asked.

“This cloak was sheared off by teleportation magic. Some of the most powerful I’ve seen.”

“Any idea as to where it would have taken the Prince?” Shaw asked.

“None whatsoever,” Jaina sighed. “Where was this found? I want to examine the scene of the crime, so to speak.”

After apologizing to the tailor, Varian asked the man and his apprentices to vacate the shop for a while. They gladly did so, heading over to the grassy spot in front of the mage tower. The youngest apprentice, a boy barely ten, looked quite grateful for the interruption. Varian suppressed a snort as Jaina wandered the shop, casting magics.

The shop had a mirror, and Jaina used some time magics she’d wheedled out of Chromie to show the events of the past day. The mirror revealed Anduin charging into the shop, looking angry, then puzzled, then taking a few steps forward. Then the piece of fabric from his cloak fluttered by the mirror as if stirred by an incredible wind. The angle of the mirror prevented her from seeing who – or what – had grabbed Anduin.

“I doubt very much Horde intelligence would want much to do with a tailor’s shop,” Shaw said.

“Oh, so do I. But someone grabbed him and whisked him off, that much is certain,” Jaina said. “I need to get back to the Citadel. There are circles, powerful magics I can use to find Anduin, no matter where he’s gotten off to.”

“This is Pandaria, all over again,” Varian sighed.

Varian was on his third bottle, much later that evening, when Jaina returned.

“Where is he?”

“Not on Azeroth, or under so much magical illusions, I can’t find him.” Jaina forbore to supply the third reason - Anduin being dead.

“Write a letter to Vol’jin,” Valeera said, disengaging herself from the shadows. “If Anduin is their prisoner, he’ll know, and we can get him to see reason.”

Varian nodded mutely, drew pen and paper to himself, and began to write.


	11. Confessions

“Warchief,” The soldier brought in a missive. “It has been checked, and no foul magics rest upon it.”

Vol’jin took the Lion-sealed letter and opened it. Written in Orcish, Varian Wrynn expressed his concerns over Anduin being a prisoner of the Horde, possibly being carried to a faction city as they spoke. He wanted to arrange a meeting in ten days’ time, between Grom’gol Hold and Fort Livingston.

“Call da leaders togedda. I would speak wid all of dem,” Vol’jin commanded.

“Warchief!” The soldier’s fist connected with his armor in a heavy clang. Vol’jin nodded dismissal.

So, the young prince had found himself in danger? Or more likely, run away to help others. He didn’t voice it, but Vol’jin liked Prince Anduin. Boy had spirit. Backbone. Like his father. But there was another possibility to be considered. Vol’jin slipped off the throne and headed out the back door of Grommash Hold. He called for Brightscale, his emerald raptor, and within a few minutes he’d set off for home. There was a sacred clearing on the Isles where he could commune with the loa and discern the truth of the boy’s fate.

An hour later, Brightscale safely tied away from the clearing, Vol’jin strode in. He crouched in the middle, raised his right arm, and called upon his loa.

“Bwonsamdi. I be needin your wisdom,” Vol’jin spoke quietly. “I fear for da human prince, and what his disappearance could mean to da Horde.”

Bwonsamdi appeared, his face wreathed in a smile. “You fear for da prince’s life, old friend. No worries, da boy is alive and well… for now.”

Vol’jin looked up. “For now? Dere is a threat to da boy?”

“Ah, yes, when his fadda finds out what he done, da boy gon wish he were dead!” Bwonsamdi cackled.

“So, da prince just got his self in some kind o trouble den.” Vol’jin wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disgusted.

Bwonsamdi’s laughter cut off. The silence was so abrupt, Vol’jin had to look up. The loa’s face was serious, his eyes almost glowing.

“But be warned. Da Prince will return, and ya best heed de warnings he brings. For da Horde as well as da Alliance. I not be needin so many souls clogging up my realm!”

And the loa was gone.

Vol’jin had a lot to think about on his ride back to the Hold.

As he expected, the leaders all expressed surprise and denial of Prince Anduin being in any of their lands. Satisfied they were telling the truth, he looked around the room.

“We be havin a calm before de storm. Use it. Da Alliance is not our enemy. Da spirits be tellin me our enemy comes from anudda way.”

“Are you going to meet with the King?” Baine asked.

“Yes. And I want you to come wid me, Baine. You and da prince are friends. Da King need to see dat, and dat you have honored your word to only write da boy.”

“I have.”

“Den let’s go. The travel be long.”

Ten days later, a squadron of blue and gold met a squadron of red and black in the wilds of Stranglethorn Vale.

“Warchief,” Varian called out. “My son is not with you.”

“King,” Vol’jin smiled tightly. “We both know de udda as honorable men. So I not be wastin your time. Da young prince is not in Horde lands. He be… someplace else. A place we have no name for. But not dead. De spirits tell me he is alive, and well.”

King Varian nodded.

“Dey give me one udda message, King of de Alliance. Dat your son brings words of wisdom, and when he returns, we both need ta hear it.” Vol’jin stepped back and nodded to Baine.

The Tauren stepped forward.

“Baine,” King Varian approached him. “I understand in your last correspondence you stated you wished to meet my son and talk of the issues between our factions. Did you receive an answer from Anduin?”

“I did,” Baine spoke slowly. “He said he was waiting for you to speak of a peace summit or something of that nature where we could talk while you and the others spoke of trade and treaties.”

Varian nodded. “But he said nothing of slipping off to Mulgore to visit you in your homeland.”

Baine chuckled. “The young prince is clever and resourceful. But he did not, I assure you.”

Mollified, King Varian nodded. “If you learn anything new, please, send word.”

“We will,” Vol’jin answered simply.

The two squadrons parted ways into the Vale.

Anduin read Chapter Four of the primer till dinner, as Varok had commanded, then stopped only long enough to eat. After the meal was done, Varok sat in his favorite chair outside, reading. Not long after, Anduin crawled in his lap. They spent a good few hours reading and enjoying each other’s company. As the night drew in around them, Anduin shivered, and leaned into Varok’s chest for warmth.

Varok wrapped Anduin in a one-armed hug, finished the chapter he was reading, then closed the book and set it on the table. Anduin watched as he pulled off his spectacles, folding them with an expert flick of the wrist, and set them on the book. Varok’s other arm wrapped around the young prince, and he was swaddled in warm muscle.

Without a word, Varok swung Anduin into his arms and carried him to the bed. One handed, with all the time in the world, he removed Anduin’s clothing piece by piece, dropping it on the floor, until Anduin lay bare before him. A quick few movements, and Varok’s jeans joined them.

Blue eyes never left his as Anduin slowly spread his legs, teasing, smiling up at the old orc.

Varok sat on the edge of the bed, swung his legs up, and pulled a startled Anduin onto him. His kisses were feral, but still sweet, as the young man’s hands caressed every inch of flesh he could reach. Anduin broke off the kiss, only to kiss Varok’s throat, his shoulder, trailing kisses to a pierced nipple. He teased the nipple with a sweet pink tongue, took the barbell into his mouth, suckling all the while. Varok moaned.

Anduin’s attentions, and kisses, soon trailed down Varok’s body. Slow, agonizingly sweet, until Anduin’s hands and mouth were on his cock. Varok moaned again as Anduin slid his hands up and down, working into a steady rhythm, threatening to make Varok explode long before he wanted. He all but hauled the boy up to a sitting position, straddling him, and reached for the small container of lube.

Anduin obediently turned and gave Varok a lovely view of his round ass; Varok grabbed a cheek, then used the little bit of leverage to make sure Anduin was ready for him. Anduin’s moans were loud enough to raise the dead.

“Now,” Varok commanded, and the prince did not need to be told twice. He slowly speared himself on the old orc’s massive member, enjoying the burn and the stretch as his hole took it all in, inch by sweet inch.

Varok’s hands seized Anduin’s hips, as he ground in and out, faster, faster, bringing himself to the edge.

“Don’t you dare!” Varok growled; Anduin nodded, sweat beading on his brow. He bit his lip.

When Varok came, just a minute later, he noted Anduin had obeyed. His seed inside the prince, the prince’s seed then spilled all over his abdomen and stomach. Anduin pitched forward, already on the verge of passing out.

Varok took a few steadying breaths.

“Anduin?”

“Hmm?”

“Where did you learn this?”

Anduin’s cheeks flushed; his eyes dropped. “There was a… a guard. He taught me what to do. But he never... penetrated me.”

“Did he use you?” Varok bit off the growl rising in his chest. He didn’t want to frighten the young man.

“No. He gave as much as he received.” Anduin said.

“What became of him?”

“He died,” Anduin said.

Varok felt a tear drip onto his skin. He reached down, cupping the young boy’s face, and scrubbed away the others that fell with a gentle thumb. Swallowing down a sob, Anduin finally continued.

“The Siege of Orgrimmar. Father knew. He must have.” Varok felt how deeply Anduin frowned against his palm. “Eric – his name was Eric Tyrell. He was sent to the front lines. One of the first to be killed in the battle. He never had a chance. He didn’t…” Anduin’s tears fell faster; Varok pulled him close, so Anduin could rest his head in his favorite spot right under the old orc’s chin.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. I asked him, he was always so kind, willing to talk to me as if I were a regular person. He was one of my few true friends.” Anduin laid his head down, tears still falling. “Eric was – he was bisexual, he liked both men and women, and he told me more about – about sexual things than anyone else. And how to get myself through conceiving an heir, because I’m not attracted to women, at all.” Anduin sniffled. “But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

“What happened?” Varok asked, in the gentlest voice he could manage.

“I never got to say goodbye,” Anduin finished, and wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many many thanks to Sed, The Winter Senpai, and the Lionfang Discord server for ideas, encouragement, and mucho shenanigans! If you love this pairing, I encourage you to check it out!


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